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SEEDS of SERVICE 


Priming the Pump of Life 


ERNEST CLAY BAIRD 

% % 




CINCINNATI, OHIO 

THE STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY 

**-Ht.Z* 


Copyright, 1923, by 
The Standard Publishing Company 





JUN 23 *24 

©C1A792932 
'Ub j 


TO THE PATIENT TOILERS 
OF EARTH 

Who weep by bending willows and sing 
on the hilltops; 

Who believe where they can not see, and 
do where they can not know; 

Who sob, softly, in the night, yet smile, 
bravely, in the day; 

Who reach up with the hand of faith and 
touch, fearlessly, the arm of God — 

To that great, heroic company who, un¬ 
known and unheralded, do, with a 
fine courage, the work of God, in 
God*s own world. 


THESE LITTLE MESSAGES ARE 
DEDICATED IN LOVE 


CONTENTS 


m 

God’s “Who’s Who’’ .. . 

page 

9 

A Living Epistle . 


A Thorn in the Flesh . 

13 

Teachers Three.... 

15 

Seekest Thou Great Things! . 

16 

We are Off with a Smile _ _ 

. 17 

The Print of Baby Fingers. 

. 19 

“Inasmuch as You Did It Not” 

. 21 

‘‘Speaking the Truth in Love” 

... 23 

“Uncle Bob’s Wave” . 

. 25 

In the Early Spring .. 

. 27 

Seeing the Invisible .... 

. 28 

The Christmas Spirit . 

29 

Faith Claiming Its Birthright 

-. 31 

“A Lamp unto My Feet” ... 

33 


5 















CONTENTS 


Bringing Out the Good.... 34 

“We Shall Be Like Him” __—.— 35 

“Like as a Father” ....... 37 

Walking with Soft Footsteps .-.. 38 


“The Child in the Midst”.... 40 

The Friendly Way.. 42 

The Better Way ... 43 

“As the Hart Panteth”___ 45 


Working Together ....:_ 47 

Shutting Jesus Out..... 48 


The Faith of a Little Child.. 50 

“My Peace I Give unto Thee” . 52 

My Dream and I____54 

“Who Being Dead, Yet Speaketh” .. 55 

When Baby Came .... 57 

Eighty Years of Morning.„.. 58 

“Consider the Lilies” .. 60 


Our Unknown Dead ------ 62 

6 





















CONTENTS 


< ( 


Love Never Faileth 




The Preacher __ 


A Baby’s Smile _ 


Feeling at Home in Heaven 


The Garden of Your Life__ 

The Unknown Great .... 


“There Remaineth a Rest” 


A Little Gray House...... 

» 

* 

Selling Good News ____ 

The Up-hill Road...... 

“Peace, Be Still” . .... 

Weaving Rainbows .. 

God’s Out-of-doors.. 

“We Shall Be Like Him”. 

A Seed by the Wayside. 

Somebody Came---- 

“Having Eyes They See Not”. 

What Shall We Sidetrack? ..... 

7 



__ 63 

. 65 

_ 67 

. 69 

_...... 71 

73 

.- 75 

77 

_ 78 

.. 80 

81 

.. 83 

.. 85 

.._. 86 

.. 89 

90 

.. 91 

_ 94 












CONTENTS 


Victorious Light____ 

Making the Yesterdays Beautiful 

The Gratitude of the Humble _ 

The Pilgrim...... 

The Autumn Leaf... 

Sowing Happiness . 

My Mother’s Smile ....... 

My Old-fashioned Mother. 

Faded Lines ..... 

Going Home .. 


97 

100 

103 

104 

107 

108 
111 
112 
113 
116 


8 











SEEDS OF SERVICE 

God’s “Who’s Who” 

I READ a book which told of the deeds of the 
sons of men. It was a story of war, conquest, 
pillage. I read of hate, jealousy, deceit. I read 
of seduced innocence and betrayed friendship. 
One was acclaimed great whose hands were red 
with blood; and another, generous, who had 
devoured widows’ houses. 

Sick at heart, I closed the book, and walked in 
thoughtful mood, down a quiet street. And as I 
walked, this is what I saw: 

A woman with a babe at her breast, and she 
wot not that her face was shining. 

A white-robed child kneeling in prayer. 

A man and a maid keeping love’s tryst. 

A young girl reading to one whose eyes were 
sightless. 

A poor widow dividing her loaf with one who 
was poorer still. 

A housewife carrying dainty food to a sick 
neighbor. 

All this and more, I saw in my little walk. 

9 


SEEDS OF SERVICE 


And I thought of all the little, quiet streets in 
God’s world where people were doing these same 
fine deeds. And as I thought, I thanked God and 
took courage. 

But why, 0 Pen of History, should these go un¬ 
recorded, while so much that is sad and unlovely 
burdens the pages of literature? 

It will be different when God’s “Who’s Who” 
is written! 



JO 




SEEDS OF SERVICE 


A Living, Epistle 

T HE great preacher closed his sermon with an 
earnest and eloquent gospel appeal. Among 
the score or more who responded was a woman of 
wealth and social distinction. She asked permis¬ 
sion to speak a word to the audience. 

“I want you to know,” she said, “just why I 
came forward to-night. It was not because of any 
word spoken by the preacher. I stand here be¬ 
cause of the influence of a little woman who sits 
before me. Her fingers are rough with toil; the 
hard work of many years has stooped her low; she 
is just a poor, obscure washwoman, who has served 
in my home for many years. I have never known 
her to become impatient, speak an unkind word or 
do a dishonorable deed. I know of countless little 
acts of unselfish love that adorn her life. Shame¬ 
facedly, let me say that I have openly sneered at' 
her faith and laughed at her fidelity to God. Yet, 
when my little girl was taken away, it was this 
woman who caused me to look beyond the grave 
and shed my first tear of hope. The sweet magnet¬ 
ism of her life has led me to Christ. I covet the 
thing that has made her life so beautiful.” 

At the request of the preacher, the little woman 

was led forward, her eyes all streaming with glad 

11 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


tears, and such a shining face as one seldom sees 
on this earth. “Let me introduce to you,” said 
he, “the real preacher of the evening.” And the 
great audience arose in silent, though not tearless, 
respect. 

Oh, ye obscure toilers of the world, ye patient 
doers of the Word, think not that no one sees! I 
say unto you that a great cloud of witnesses will 
rise up on that day, and call you blessed! 



12 






SEEDS OF SERVICE 


A Thom in the Flesh 


HEY were walking, just before me, down the 



X crowded street—a woman and a little girl. 
While the latter had a bright, beautiful face, she 
was burdened with a deformity that was ugly and 
conspicuous. One foot was greatly enlarged and 
twisted in a most unlovely way. 

Passing a group of schoolboys, one of them 
said, in a voice plainly audible to mother and 
child: “Look out for the elephant! Don't let 
her step on you! ’’ 

“Mamma," said the little girl, in a voice of 
tragic agony, “he’s making fun of me!” The 
mother, bending low, whispered some comforting 
word. 

I paused, thinking to rebuke the boy for his 
cruel rudeness, but found, to my great joy and 
surprise, that his companions had all turned against 
him. “I think you are mean and cowardly," said 
one. “I don’t want to be around you, at all," 
said another. “Let’s get away from him," said 
a third. And this they did, leaving him alone, an 
outcast, with a face all red with shame. 

I quickened my footsteps and soon overtook the 
mother and child. It was in my heart to speak a 
word that would help or encourage. But I could 


13 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


think of no word that could reach the wounds in 
their troubled hearts. The little girl was crying, 
while the mother’s face was white with an agony 
too deep for tears. 

As they turned down a side street, the little 
girl said, in words as sad, it seemed to me, as were 
ever spoken by lips of clay: “Mamma, I wish 
God had made me like other little girls.” 

The mother did not speak. Indeed, I know that 
she could not have spoken. She drew her afflicted 
child close, close to her side, and draped her long 
cloak about the trembling body, as though to 
shield, in some measure, the misshapen member 
from the gaze of the world. And thus they 
passed out of sight, but not out of mind. For I 
could still see that mother’s ashen face, and I 
could still hear the voice of the little girl saying, 
in tragic pathos: “Mamma, I wish God had made 
me like other little girls” And I found myself 
breathing a prayer to the One who loves little chil¬ 
dren, and who “took our infirmities and bore our 
diseases,” that He would, in some way, greatly en¬ 
rich the life of this poor child of earth, who wanted 
to be “like other little girls.” 


14 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Teackers Tkree 

I rested awhile in a quiet nook, 

And found there teachers three— 

One was a bird and one was a brook, 

And one was a green, green tree. 

The wee bird sang a cheerful song 
That no one heard but me; 

And it seemed to say: “You’ve heard my lay: 
Pass on its melody!” 

The brook flowed on in a glad, glad way, 

Smiling at the rock’s rebuff. 

“I have no room,” it said, “for gloom; 

I laugh when the road is rough!” 

The green tree stood with wide, wide boughs, 
Like hands outstretched to greet; 

And when the branches stirred, I caught this 
word: 

“Be a friend to all you meet.” 


2 


15 




SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Seekest Thou Great Things? 

O H, the greatness of little things! 

Just a line on a post-card, but it changed a 
whole day’s drudgery into a dream! 

Just a handclasp—no word was spoken—but, in 
some way, it soothed the wounded soul! 

Just a cluster of wild flowers placed in a sick 
child’s faded fingers, but it inspired a prayer of 
gratitude which winged its way to the throne of 
God. 

Just a word of appreciation lightly spoken 
where two paths met, but it lit the lamp of hope 
in a pilgrim’s heart. 

Just a smile, but it transmuted the dark mists 
of the moment into a rainbow of brightest beauty. 

Just a little act of courtesy, but it caused a 
stranger among strangers to say: “Oh, how good 
is the heart of the world!” 

Seekest thou great things, 0 my masters ? 
Seek them not! Make them out of the oppor¬ 
tunities that dot the pathway of your life. 


16 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


We Are Off with a Smile 

Note. —When it woe reported in the Winona Lake Convention 
that, just when Foreign Missions was the subject under considera¬ 
tion, twenty-two of our missionaries were sailing from San Fran¬ 
cisco on the steamer “Golden State,” the officers were instructed 
to send them a special telegram of godspeed in the name of the Con¬ 
vention. Promptly their answer came back: 

“San Francisco, Calif., Aug. 31, 1922. 

“Greetings to Convention. We are off with a smile. 

“(Signed) Missionaries on the ‘Golden State.’” 

The good ship sailed away to the west, 

Away on the summer sea; 

And it carried away the best that we had, 

A royal company. 

They went to the wild frontiers of life, 

To the lands of the living-dead; 

They shed no tear, they felt no fear; 

“We are off with a smile,” they said. 

Bringers of good tidings, these, 

To them who wait for light; 

To jungle land and desert sand 
They went to break the night. 


They gave up home and friends and ease, 
The things we count worth while, 

But all this loss they counted dross, 

And sailed away with a smile. 


17 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


For, to these lands of blackest night 
They did not go alone; 

The Master’s “Go” and the Master’s “Lo” 
Unite in what they’ve done. 

Fine and brave was their parting word, 
Fine, what they went to do. 

We’ll not forget, they’re smiling yet 
In the lands where smiles are few. 

Hail and farewell, you shining group, 

We wish you no easy task. 

A chance to fight for God and right, 

We know is all you ask. 

And when at last the conflict’s o’er, 

And the Captain says, “Well done,” 

With such a smile as the angels smile, 
You’ll claim the crown you’ve won. 



18 







SEEDS OF SERVICE 


The Print of Baby Finders 

T HERE it was on a broken pane of glass—the 
print of a baby’s hand. To escape a sudden 
downpour of rain, I had sought refuge in an old, 
deserted house. While the storm raged, I explored 
my crude, but kindly, shelter. In a corner, among a 
heap of rubbish, I had found this tragic reminder 
of another’s sorrow. The bit of glass had been 
rudely framed, and, on the lower edge, these 
words had been written by a hand that trembled 
most pitifully: “This is all that I have left now.” 

What a pathetic biography was here! What a 
glimpse of a heart all bruised and broken! I 
lingered, musingly, before this token of grief. 

There had been the birth of a child. A woman 
had gone down to death’s river, and had waged 
heroic battle! 

And the child had lived its brief day. It had 
looked in pleased wonder on a world full of en¬ 
trancing mystery. No doubt it had laughed in 
its beautiful way, and spoken its first little word. 

And then the child had died, even while it was 
yet early morning. No doubt friends came to com¬ 
fort the mother in her bereavement. Perhaps some 
one read a verse from God’s book and told of 

Christ’s love for little children. And, oh! I 

19 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


wonder if these words touched the wound in this 
mother's heart or broke the midnight of her gloom! 

Then came sad, lonely days, when the mother 
lived alone with her grief. The house seemed so 
silent and empty now! The music of baby's laugh¬ 
ter and the soft pressure of baby's fingers—these 
no longer were! 

And then came the day when, with brimming 
eyes, she discerned the print of baby’s hand on the 
window-pane. With pathetic eagerness her poor 
heart had fed upon this reminder of her little child. 


As I mused, the sun came out in all of its 
splendid glory. The storm was over now. The 
refreshed world was smiling in the sweet embrace 
of fragrant summer. And as I went my way, I 
said in my soul: “Perhaps her storm also passed, 
and her dark day ended, not without hope! Per¬ 
haps she looked up through rifted clouds to a blue 
place in the sky, where baby fingers beckoned!" 



20 




SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“Inasmuch as You Did It Not” 


HERE she sat in a broken chair, holding a 



1 sick child. I saw her through the open door of 
her poor home. In the window was a drooping 
geranium, in an old tin can. My car whizzed 
by and I saw no more. But there were items in 
the scene that I could not easily forget. 

There was the dying flower. Somehow it 
seemed to tell of something clean and wholesome 
in the woman’s heart, else it had not been placed 
in the window. 

And there was the sick child. I wondered if 
it would ever, again, look up and smile. Or, 
would there soon be a little, new grave some¬ 
where beneath the kind stars? 

And the woman’s face. It was so white and 
drawn that it seemed an impossible thing that she 
should ever laugh. Had she put up a brave fight 
against the rough circumstances that had brought 
her so low? Would there ever be another green 
spot in her life? 

And there was myself, who had passed by 
without ministering. Would He, who “went about 
doing good” and who said, “Follow me,” have 
done as I did? Not so. He, who, being cast out 
of His Father’s house, saw the helpless blind 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


man on the streets of Jerusalem town—He, I 
know in my soul, would have gladly crossed the 
threshold of this broken home, bringing healing 
and hope. 

What a great day it will be for this hard, 
selfish world when those of us who wear the 
name of Christ shall have learned the meaning 
of these two sentences: “Ye are the light of the 
world,” and “He was moved with compassion.” 


t 



22 








SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“Speaking the Truth in Love” 


OVE and Truth were walking in the meadow 



l—i of life, though on different paths. They met 
at a certain place. 

“How fares it with thee, Friend Truth V’ said 
Love. 

“Not so well as I could wish,” answered 
Truth. “People say that I am hard and harsh. 
My frown repels. I can convince, but I can not 
win. I see that you are smiling, so, no doubt, 
you are making good progress.” 

“ ’Tis true that I smile, but this is just a veil 
that screens a perplexed heart. My progress is 
hindered by dimness of vision. I make mistakes. 
I can draw people, but I can not direct them 
aright. People say that I am not a wise counselor. 
I am weak in leadership. I need an unerring path¬ 
finder to blaze for me the straight way through 
the shadows and dark mists, to the goal. You can 
not know how I covet your clearness of vision.” 
Thus spoke Love. 

“It seems to me,” replied Truth, “that you 
lack the things of which I possess an abundance, 
and I need the qualities in which you excel.” 

And both stood still, considering the matter. 


23 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


At last Love asked timidly, yet hopefully: 
“Why, then, can we not walk together, always? I 
can soften you, while you, in turn, can guide me. 
Then, indeed, we shall be invincible. ’ 7 

So they joined hands and walked the earth 
together. 

And the people, pleased and satisfied, said one 
to another: 

“How gentle is Truth” 

“How strong is Love.” 



24 





SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“Uncle Bob’s Wave” 

E VERYBODY in the little town called him 
“Uncle Bob.” He was a friendly, genial, 
cheerful man. Poor in purse, rich in friends— 
that describes Uncle Bob. 

When he became ill there was much sorrow in 
the village. Every one was anxious, save Uncle 
Bob. He treated his sickness as a joke. 

One day a specialist came from the city, and, 
after a careful examination, declared that the sick 
man would never get well. Uncle Bob accepted the 
verdict with a smile. 

“Will it be days or weeks, Doc?” he questioned 
lightly. “Weeks, but not many,” was the answer. 

The next day Uncle Bob made a strange request. 
“I want you,” said he, “to move my bed into the 
front room right in front of the big window. I 
want to wave at the folks as they pass by.” This 
was the beginning of “Uncle Bob’s Wave.” 

There he rested among his pillows of snowy 
whiteness, his open Bible before him, with a smile 
like a cloudless morning, and, as the people passed, 
Uncle Bob would wave in his own friendly way. 

In the next few days this window became a 
shrine. Thither came the people—old and young. 
Schoolchildren would go many blocks out of 




SEEDS OF SERVICE 


their accustomed way in order to pass this window. 
Here the tired found rest; the sad, comfort; the 
selfish, healing chastening. The most effective way 
to discipline a wayward child was for mother to 
say: “I’ll tell Uncle Bob, and he’ll not wave at 
you any more.” 

“Now, neighbors,” said Uncle Bob, when he was 
very weak indeed, “when I’m gone, don’t think of 
my grave; think of my wave.” And then there 
came a day when he could not wave—he could 
only smile. Just before his spirit went home, 
Uncle Bob looked up into the face of his weeping 
wife. “Never mind, mother,” said he, “I’m just 
going ahead to fix things up a little. I’ll look out 
for you, and when I see you coming—I’ll—just— 
wave. ’ ’ 

And the memory of “Uncle Bob’s Wave” still 
lingers as a benediction in the little town. 



26 






SEEDS OF SERVICE 


In the Early Spring 

In the early spring, as I walked around, 

There were green things growing right up from 
the ground! 

Up from the silent earth and mold; 

Up from the darkness, damp and cold. 

As I saw these growing things, so brave, 

I remembered that each grew on a grave! 

Grew on the grave of a buried seed, 

Whose old life died, and this new life freed. 

And I thought of the graves of the sons of men, 
And of the One who died and rose again, 

Whose empty grave is a guarantee 
That we shall live eternally! 



27 




SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Seeing, the Invisible 

T HE other day I heard a fine, brave word of 
faith. It was spoken by a man who had just 
heard of his brother’s death in a distant State. 

“I tell you,” he said, “it made me homesick 
when I received that message. All the family 
are over there now—all except me. I just feel 
that I would like to answer ‘Present,’ and join 
the family circle. Of course, I am willing to stay 
here awhile, and do any little task that the good 
Master wants me to do, but I’m just waiting, and 
I’ll be glad, glad when the sunset comes.” 

I knew that circumstances had not been kind 
to this man. He had walked among the shadows. 
His face was like a furrowed field. He had 
traveled a rough pathway. But these unpleasant 
experiences of life had served only to polish the 
lens of faith that he might see the invisible, and 
thus bravely endure. With wild shadows playing 
about him, and strange voices speaking, he had 
gone straight ahead. 

I thank thee, aged pilgrim, for this glimpse 
of a life victorious. I name thee “Friend of God.” 
Yes, also, friend of man and of me. And may 
the lights burn brightly among the trees when 
you go to make the circle complete. 

28 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


The Christmas Spirit 

I AM the Christmas spirit! 

I enter the home of poverty, causing pale- 
faced children to open their eyes wide, in pleased 
wonder. 

I cause the miser’s clutched hand to relax, 
and thus paint a bright spot on his soul. 

I cause the aged to renew their youth and to 
laugh in the old, glad way. 

I keep romance alive in the heart of child¬ 
hood, and brighten sleep with dreams woven of 
magic. 

I cause the eager feet to climb dark stairways 
with filled baskets, leaving behind hearts amazed 
at the goodness of the world. 

I cause the prodigal to pause a moment on 
his wild, wasteful way, and send to anxious love 
some little token that releases glad tears—tears 
which wash away the hard lines of sorrow. 

I enter dark prison cells, reminding scarred 
manhood of what might have been, pointing for¬ 
ward to good days yet to be. 

I come softly into the still, white home of pain, 
and lips that are too weak to speak just tremble 
in silent, eloquent gratitude. 


29 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


In a thousand ways I cause the weary world 
to look up into the face of God, and for a little 
moment forget the things that are small and 
wretched. 

I am the Christmas spirit! 



30 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Faith Claiming Its Birthright 

J UST yesterday I attended a great gospel meet¬ 
ing. The chorus director was leading the large 
audience as they sang that wonderful hymn of 
faith: “In the Sweet By and By.” 

“I would like,” said the leader, “for those 
who have reached the age of fifty years, to sing 
the next verse. ’ ’ In response, many strong, 
clear voices filled the building with delightful 
melody. 

“And now,” asked the director, “will those 
who are over sixty please sing the same verse?” 
But this time the voices were fewer, by scores, 
and weak and wavering. 

“May we have the great joy,” said the leader 
once more, “of listening to those who have 
reached the age of seventy?” Perhaps a dozen 
trembling voices sang the words which told of a 
home in the glory world. 

“I wonder,” said the evangelist once again, 
“if I might dare to ask those who have attained 
the age of fourscore years to sing. ’ ’ 

“We will try,” answered a lady with a face 
of beautiful sunshine. And while the organ 
played softly they sang—just two—a man and a 
woman. 


3 


31 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


And, oh, such music! It was like the echo 
of a song that was being voiced in another world. 
One could scarcely tell whether the singers were 
very old or very young, such a glad light danced 
in their eyes, and their white locks hovered as 
halos of hope. 

What a splendid tribute it was to a faith 
triumphant! After more than sixty years of 
Christian experience they were singing with sweet 
confidence of morning and a new day, even while 
the sun was setting. Pilgrims, they were, almost 
at the journey’s end. Bravely did they look out 
among the trees and see the lights brightly shin¬ 
ing there, and, knowing full well that they would 
find rest, peace and sweet contentment, were ex¬ 
pressing in song the faith that made them friends 
of God. 

There was enough faith manifested in the 
singing of this hymn by these two children of the 
kingdom to outweigh all infidel logic. 



32 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“A Lamp unto My Feet” 

S HE has been a helpless invalid for more than 
twenty years. During these days of weary 
pain she has not left her bed, except when lifted 
by the kind hands of ministering love, yet she is 
always bright and cheerful. She talks about the 
goodness of God, the kindness of people, the 
fidelity of friends. 

People come to her couch with arms laden 
with gifts, but they always carry away more than 
they bring. The sad are comforted, the selfish 
rebuked, the unworthy chastened, the murmurers 
made ashamed. In her presence, the gossip’s 
tongue is held in leash and the lips of the slander¬ 
er are sealed. Indeed, people make a beaten path 
to this lowly couch, not to bestow, but to re¬ 
ceive, a blessing. They come tired and undone. 
They turn away saying: “I must do a good deed 
before I sleep.” 

“What keeps you so radiant, grandmother?” 
asked one on a certain day. 

“This Lamp,” she said, and she held up her 
well-worn Bible. 

Oh, little woman, so frail and so pale! How 
very few are there among the children of men 

who are stronger or greater than thou! 

33 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Bringing Out the Good 

Here’s one of the common facts of life; 

’Tis true beyond a doubt: 

There’s lots of good in other folks, 

If we can only bring it out! 

Some folks are grim and rough outside; 

At first, they may repel; 

But we’ll find a kernel, good and sweet, 

If we can only break the shell! 

The things inside are the things that count; 

The price-mark’s on the heart; 

When we help the best that’s written there, 
We play the noblest part. 

Let’s look for good in folks we meet, 

No matter how they’re clad, 

And give this good a chance to grow, 

And smother out the had! 



34 





SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“We Shall Be Like Him” 

S HE was a little, bent woman, stooping low 
over her washtub; and she was always singing. 
Her life seemed barren of everything pleasant or 
desirable. She had no income except the poor 
wage she received for her daily grind of toil.. 
Her husband was a hopeless invalid and a con¬ 
stant care. She never took a vacation. She 
was getting old. She had no one to care for her 
when she could no longer toil. And yet, she was 
always singing! And such a song! It was 
* 4 Count Your Blessings!” 

People, passing by the humble home, would 
pause and listen to the lone singer, and then walk 
thoughtfully and softly away. And in some way 
the good cheer of the poor washwoman spread as 
a beautiful contagion throughout the neighbor¬ 
hood. They were ashamed to murmur. 

“But auntie,” said one who was rich in the 
things of this world, “what blessings have you 
to count? I see no pleasant thing in your life. 
Where are your blessings?” 

“Well, you know, most of them are on the 
inside. Maybe I don’t get much out of life, but 
I try to put all that I can into it, and this makes 

one happy. I am going into the presence of my 

35 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Taskmaster, and I do not want to go with empty 
hands. These things that are on the outside are 
just rough places in the road, and soon they will 
be behind me. Every feature of my life which 
resembles the life of Jesus I regard as a blessing. 
I am poor; so was He. I am humble; He was 
4 meek and lowly in heart.’ I work; He said, ‘I 
must work.’ I am a washwoman; He was a car¬ 
penter. I bear a cross; He was crucified on a 
cross. These are my blessings. I am trying to be 
like Him here, because I hope to be like Him over 
there. ’ ’ 

“Oh,” said the rich one, “how poor am I, and 
how blind!” 

“But how rich you might be!” said the little 
washwoman. 

Can any one doubt that this obscure woman 
will be “perfectly at home” in heaven? 



36 





SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“Like as a Father” 

Purple clusters, bending grain; 

God is feeding His own again! 

Ferns and flowers, touched with dew; 
God’s masterpiece, prepared for you! 

The sun at noon, the stars at night; 
God providing His creatures light! 

God, the Feeder! Painter, too! 
Illuminator! All for you! 



37 







SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“Walking, with Soft 
Footsteps’ ’ 

A LITTLE group of neighbor women had 
gathered in a lowly home to comfort a young 
mother, whose only child, a little girl one year old, 
lay in the still sleep which is called death. The 
poor mother was in a state of utter collapse, declar¬ 
ing that she could never face the dark lonely 
days ahead. 

The visitors wore shining faces, and each ad¬ 
dressed some little message of sympathy to the 
woman who was drinking her cup of sorrow. 

Sitting together around the little casket, these 
kind-hearted neighbors, perhaps designedly, fell 
into a reminiscent mood. Each member of the 
little company told of a Gethsemane experience 
in her own life. 

One sitting there had, as the result of an acci¬ 
dent, walked the earth twenty-seven years with 
sightless eyes. 

Another had seen her little four-year-old son 
ground to death beneath the wheels of a passing 
trolley-car. 

Still another had lost two noble sons, college 
students in one year. One was fatallv hurt in a 

38 



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ball game; the other the victim of acute tuber¬ 
culosis. 

And yet another had a daughter, a brilliant 
girl of brightest promise, in the hopeless ward of 
an insane asylum. 

And thus each told her pitiful story of tragic 
sorrow. 

When they had finished, the bereaved woman 
said, with a sobbing voice: “My friends, I am 
glad that you have told me these things. I just 
feel that I must be brave now. But, oh I wonder 
how you ever endured it all!” 

“It is because,” said she of the sightless 
eyes, with a smile of beautiful dawn, “it is be¬ 
cause we have not faced the task alone. The 
great Burden-bearer has always carried the 
heavier part.” 

“But thanks be to God who giveth us the vic¬ 
tory,” said she who had buried her two sons. 
“Let us pray.” 

After a brief prayer the young mother looked 
up with hope shining through a mist of tears. 

I wonder if she heard the rustle of a wing! 


39 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“The Child in the Midst” 

K ISS it, muvver, and make it well! ’ ’ 

These words were spoken by a little girl who, 
in her playing, had bruised her finger. Eagerly 
she climbed on mother’s knee, nor was there any 
doubt in her heart. 

Thou art a wise teacher, little maiden, and one 
which a wounded world would do well to follow. 
If we would but give heed, you have preached a 
most eloquent and impressive sermon, and much 
more than a sermon. For do we not discern 
here three things which, if we are wise, we 
will be glad to learn? 

In the first place, there is the bruised finger. 
In playing the game of life, how often do we find 
it so. Oh, how often are we bruised and buffeted 
by circumstances, hard and cruel. What wounds, 
what disillusionments, what tragic defeats! There 
are so many wounded lives all about us. Alas! so 
many hidden wounds. If only we could read 
the hearts of people as Jesus did, we, like Him, 
would be “moved with compassion,” and there 
would be more kindness and less criticism among 
the children of men. 

Then, there is the faith in the child’s heart. 

How sad had been the lot of the little girl without 

40 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


that beautiful thing that brought her to mother’s 
knee, sobbing out her little prayer with such 
sweet confidence. And here again, how like the 
world. What a glorious transformation is wrought 
by faith. The dark moment comes, then darkness 
waves her magic wand, and tears and darkness 
are woven into a rainbow. In spite of countless 
hurts, it is always well with a world that believes 
in a God who lives and loves. 

And then the healing kiss. The child’s faith 
brought her to mother for healing. No waiting 
to experiment with other remedies, but, straight 
as a homing pigeon, she hastened to mother’s 
arms. How inexpressibly sweet is it to remember 
that we have a great Physician who says to the 
hurt world: “Come unto me.” What a glorious 
joy does it add to life when we know that we have 
a High Priest who can be “touched with a feel¬ 
ing of our infirmities, ’ ’ and to whom we can always 
go for sympathy and help! And then, when the 
day is done and the evening shadows darken, as 
tired, weary children we can go to our good 
Father, who, with a gentleness which surpasses 
even mother’s soft touch, “shall wipe away every 
tear” from our weeping eyes. 


41 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


The Friendly Way 

As you walk along the path of life, 

You’ll find this saying true: 

The way you treat the folks you meet, 

Is the way that they’ll treat you! 

If you give a smile, you’ll get a smile; 

A frown will make frowns, too; 

For what you give to other folks, 

Is what they’ll give to you. 

If you want a friend, you must be a friend, 
Is a safe rule to pursue; 

To know how you treat other folks, 

Just watch how they treat you. 

It’s hard to wear a sunbeam face 
When you are feeling blue; 

Amd yet, I say, ’tis the better way, 

For it gilds a face for you! 



42 






SEEDS OF SERVICE 


The Better Way 

O NE of the great scholars of the world was lec¬ 
turing on “Faith, in the Light of Modern Cul¬ 
ture.” He was an earnest, eloquent and interest¬ 
ing speaker. He was a master of public address. 
Every sentence seemed carefully chosen, every 
gesture appropriate, every argument finished and 
complete. 

He showed how the world had outgrown old 
beliefs, old conceptions of things. “If we grow, 
we must outgrow,” he said. He declared that in 
the old days we fondly believed that God had 
told men to write the Bible, that He had used 
them as pens. We know now that these authors 
were brave souls, groping after God; that they 
have recorded in this Book the story of their 
heroic struggle for truth and light. A good day 
would some time dawn when greater men than 
these, and wiser, would chart a new path for 
faith's footsteps, and our present Bible would be¬ 
come the primer, and not the library, of truth. 
Thus reasoned the wise one. 

Many of those who listened were among the 
poor of earth. They were “hewers of wood and 
drawers of water.” They were bent beneath 

burdens. People of small leisure were they, who 

43 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


daily had to face hard circumstances, and each 
one had a soul to save. With the words of this 
learned discourse echoing in their ears, these com¬ 
mon ones of earth went to their homes nursing 
the shreds of mutilated faith. And God seemed 
far away! 

Among them was an aged couple—husband 
and wife—who for fifty years had walked side 
by side in Christian living. 

“Well, mother, ,, said the old man, “I guess 
we haven’t done much growing in some ways, 
have we?” 

“No,” she answered softly. And their toil- 
worn, trembling hands met in the comforting 
clasp of tried love. “No; we haven’t even out¬ 
grown ‘Now I lay me down to sleep,’ and I am 
going to thank the good Lord for that very thing 
to-night. ’ ’ 

“Of course,” responded her companion, “his 
view may be all right, but I like our way the best. 
So we’ll just keep going on, leaning on the old 
staff that has supported us for so many years.” 

That night they read, in turn, from God’s 
book, His “precious and exceeding great prom¬ 
ises,” and then knelt down and repeated to¬ 
gether the little prayer learned at mother’s 
knee. Afterward came the sweet, untroubled 
sleep of childhood. Oh, tired, weary world, which 
is the better, the faith of the philosopher or the 
faith of the little child? 


44 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“As the Hart Panteth” 

I VISITED, just recently, a famous health re¬ 
sort, where a great company of the sad children 
of pain had assembled. They were seeking to rid 
themselves of the ills of the flesh. 

I saw deformity and malformation! 

I saw bodies that were all twisted and drawn 
with pain! 

I saw deep lines that had been chiseled by the 
merciless fingers of agony! 

I saw those, incapable of motion themselves, 
who were carried by the gentle hands of minister¬ 
ing love! 

I saw faces pinched and bloodless! 

I saw little children that looked old and hope¬ 
less ! 

I saw old people who, not satisfied with three¬ 
score years and ten of living, were trying to add 
a cubit to the length of life! 

There was something pathetic and tragic, yet 
noble and heroic, in this eager quest for health 
and life. And I said, in my soul, what a great 
world this would be were there no graves and 
no suffering! 

And then I thought of the Book which God 

has given to the children of men and of the 

45 




SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“precious and exceeding great promises’’ that 
adorn its pages. And, out of the splendid and 
wonderful rainbow of promises that arches, as a 
bridge of beauty, over the troubled hearts and 
the silent graves of the world, these two stood 
out in bold and beautiful relief: 

“And there shall be no more death!” 

“Neither shall there be any more pain!” 

Surely the One who made these promises un¬ 
derstands the deep, vital needs of man. And 
the eager gropings of these sick and weary ones 
after health and life—is not this also a prophecy 
and a guarantee that the good Father has them 
in store, and in richest plenty for His children? 

Thus faith, looking at the things which God 
has promised, then at man’s deep heart hunger, 
hunger for these very things, is made strong, and 
looks up, with a fine courage, to the hope that is 
laid up for us in heaven! Christianity offers the 
things for which we constantly yearn! Let the 
sad world, therefore, thank God and press on 
towards the goal. 



46 







SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Working, Together 

Working together, sunshine and shower 
Ripen the peach and paint the flower. 

Working together, laughter and tears 
Fashion the rainbow that brightens the years. 

Working together, toil and play 
Lend a glad halo to each good day. 

Working together, burden and yoke 
Bring to the weary the rest they invoke. 

Working together, God and man, 

This, the invincible partnership plan! 



4 


47 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Shutting Jesus Out 

J UST the other day I talked with a woman, 
who told me a most pitiful story of tragic sor¬ 
row and suffering. With lips that trembled, 
she spoke of lonely days and sleepless nights. 
The pathway of her life was dotted with graves, 
in which, one by one, she had buried her hopes. 
Heart-broken and embittered, and with eyes that 
could not weep, she had drained her cup of 
wormwood. And, during this long night of dark¬ 
ness and grief, she had shut Jesus out of her 
life. 

Yes, she had shut Him out! For there had 
been old, sweet days of faith, trust and cheerful 
service. But when the heavy burden came, she 
closed the door of her heart against the great 
Burden-bearer. Because the hand of circum¬ 
stances had been rough and unkind, she steeled 
her heart against Jesus Christ and believed that 
He had forgotten. 

I looked at her poor face—so hard and wasted, 
so deeply furrowed with pain—and tried to tell 
her how different it would all have been if she 
had shared her experience with the One who 
said: “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are 
heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” 

48 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


And as she listened, a tear, just one, moved 
slowly down her cheek. With soft footsteps, I 
went my way, glad to leave behind this solitary 
harbinger of hope. 



49 





SEEDS OF SERVICE 


The Faith of a Little Child 

H E was a ‘‘ne’er-do-well . 9 ’ It seemed that he 
just couldn’t get along like other people. He 
worked, when in the mood, doing odd jobs in the 
village which was his home. He was kind to ani¬ 
mals and children. His wife “took in washing.” 
She bore, by far, the heavier part of the home 
burdens. 

There was at least one individual who be¬ 
lieved this man to be precisely the best and brav¬ 
est, the highest and noblest person in the world. 
I refer to his little seven-year-old daughter. She 
clothed him with every virtue. She endowed 
him with every good thing. And he, in turn, 
idolized her. Always, when finishing some little 
task for which he had received a few cents, he 
would bring her some token of his love, although, 
at the time, the family larder might be empty. 
He called her his “little playmate.” She called 
him “daddy.” 

When the child became ill with a malignant 
fever, he watched beside her couch day and night, 
with unsleeping eyes. Indeed, she would take her 
medicine from no hand save his. From him only 
would she receive a drink of water or a bit of 
food. 


50 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


The weary days passed and the small form 
wasted to a shadow. In her delirium the word 
“daddy” was constantly on her lips. At last, 
the patient doctor said that she could not live. 
The terrible fever had burned out the vital tissues 
of life. 

On hearing this, the father, with bowed head, 
left the room. A kind neighbor, following with 
anxious heart, found him prostrate on the earth. 
Lying there, he poured out such a sobbing, wail¬ 
ing prayer as can only be born of a soul in bitter 
agony. Like David, he “besought God for the 
child. ’ ’ 

Presently, she asked for “daddy,” and some 
one led him, staggering, into the room. 

“Here I am, little playmate,” said he, with 
choking voice. 

“Daddy,” whispered the parched lips, “is 
God as good and nice as you?” 

The poor man could only nod his head. He 
could not speak. 

“Then, daddy, I am going; I am not afraid.” 

Later when the grass was green on the little 
grave, he said to a friend: “I’m glad she went 
away believing in God and—me.” And this time 
his voice did not tremble! 


51 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“My Peace I Give unto Thee” 

I KNEW a woman who was noted for her beauti¬ 
ful smile. As a good angel she moved among 
those who were often bitter and melancholy; and 
people, watching her, said one to another: 

“How easy it is for her to do things.’’ 

“I only wish circumstances were as kind to 
me.” 

“She is just one of fortune’s favorites.” 

On a certain day, one who was stooping be¬ 
neath a heavy burden said to this woman of 
smiles: “I wonder why it is that you always have 
your way about things. Your plans never mis¬ 
carry. ’ ’ 

“You would never say that if you really 
knew,” was the answer. “And, because I know 
something of the hard things that have crossed 
your pathway, I am going to give you a little 
glimpse of my chamber of sorrow. I have had 
three beautiful dreams, cherished three fond 
hopes, and each, in turn, has crumbled to ashes in 
my fingers. My first great desire was to be a 
missionary. This wish was defeated by a pro¬ 
tracted illness, which made it physically impossi¬ 
ble for me to do this work which was so dear to 

my soul. My second dream was to be a great 

52 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


singer of the gospel message, but my voice sudden¬ 
ly failed, even when my hopes were the brightest. 
My third fond ambition was to be the mother of 
children. I used to pray that I might have the 
sweet joy of feeling the soft pressure of my own 
child’s hand and of hearing baby lips address me 
by the magic name of mother. I do not pray that 
prayer now. These three hopes now rest in as 
many sacred graves.’’ 

“How, then, can you smile so sweetly!” 
questioned the other. 

“It is because I am content to let His way be 
my way.” And she pointed upward with a ges¬ 
ture of perfect trust. “The golden text of my 
life is this: ‘My grace is sufficient for thee.’ I 
have learned to ‘glory in tribulations.’ I am 
wearing the Master’s yoke, and I find that it is 
‘easy.’ I want to go into His presence with a 
smile. ’ ’ 

How wonderfully precious is the peace which 
Jesus gives. What a great thing it is to be able 
to change cloud and tempest into a rainbow. 
What a glorious alchemy is this that transforms 
the weary night into dawn and cloudless sunrise. 


53 




SEEDS OF SERVICE 


My Dream and I 

In the morning of life, when hope was rife, 

We started, my dream and I; 

It was far away, on that first, good day, 
Though it seemed to be near by. 

Then year by year, in cloud and clear, 

This dream has led the way; 

Like a sacred spark, it lights the dark 
As dawn and break of day. 

Once, I came near to this dream, so dear; 

’Twas a wonderful, glorious thing! 

But it pointed up there, to a dim, dim star, 
Then away on gossamer wing. 

And my dream is still on yonder hill, 

And it beckons and waves to me; 

O’er the valley between, there’s a silver sheen, 
And a path and a goal I see. 

Oh, dream of mine! Oh, vision fine! 

Some day I’ll come up with you; 

For I read of a place, in God’s great space, 

A place where dreams come true! 


54 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“Who Being, Dead, Yet 
Speaketh’’ 

O NE who must have been hard of heart called 
him “The Grave Bug.” Every Sunday after¬ 
noon, he visited the village cemetery and walked 
among the graves. He was a lonely old man and 
had known much sorrow. His had been the tragical 
experience of having outlived his friends—than 
which there are few sadder fates. 

As he walked there in mournful solitude, he 
would read the inscriptions on the monuments and 
make little comments, like these: 

“He did me a good turn, once.” 

“She had a most beautiful smile.” 

“He was a better man than people thought.” 
“Poor little girl. She never had a chance. 
I’m glad that God knows all about it.” 

“He was rough on the outside, but his heart 
was good.” 

“She was a glorious mother.” 

“He seemed to be bad, but maybe we did not 
treat him right.” 

“Oh, my comrade, I remember just how you 
looked when you went away. You must have 

seen something beautiful or heard sweet music.” 

55 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Thus he walked and talked. 

I am reminded that, before long, people will 
walk beside your grave and mine. I wonder 
what they will think and say. This life that we 
live in the memory of people; this influence that 
goes out from the grave; this power which out¬ 
lives us and which leads people in some direction— 
how these should sober us and give us pause! 

Sad pilgrim, you have served us a good turn. 
I am glad that you took your solitary walks. 
Glad, also, that you will not need to walk among 
graves—over there. 



53 














SEEDS OF SERVICE 


When Baby Came 

A baby came to our house one day, 

Came from heaven with us to stay; 

And then, the days were not the same; 

All was different when baby came. 

When baby came, ’twas a tiny tot; 

It had to wait for all it got; 

Yet the strongest thing about the place 
Was a teardrop on that baby’s face! 

When baby came, there was bloom and shine, 
Singing birds and the climbing vine; 

But nothing could rival the joy and grace 
Of a smile on that wee baby’s face! 

When baby came, the days grew wings, 

And the months sped on like magic things; 
Of the drab and gray there was not a trace, 
Just the shine and glow of baby’s face! 



57 







SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Eighty Years of Morning 

H E had lived for more than eighty years. 

His hair was like the snow, but there was a 
fine fire in his eyes, and his face reflected the calm 
peace that abided in his heart. For almost 
seventy years he had been a disciple of Jesus 
Christ. 

On being invited to address a class of young 
people in the Bible school, he announced that his 
subject would be “Eighty Years of Morning.” 

“It is my purpose,” said he, “to bring to you 
a message of confidence and trust. My speech is 
contained in one little sentence: ‘Be loyal to your 
Guide!’ If the passing years have taught me 
anything, it is this: The Christian can always 
safely trust his Leader. My life has been woven 
of sunshine and shadow. I have tasted both the 
honey and the wormwood of life; and I hope that 
you will believe me when I say that each has 
been equally kind. 

“Once a cherished ambition turned to dust in 
my eager fingers. 

“Again, the disloyalty of seeming friends 
filled my heart with bitterness that drove sleep 
from my pillow and hastened the whitening of 
these locks. 


58 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“And then, one day, death entered my home 
with soundless footsteps, and, almost without a 
moment’s warning, took away my cherished love. 

“But to-day, as I look back to those dark 
places, they are all rainbow-crowned! I would 
not change them if I could! 

“Every regret of my life is, in some way, 
connected with a doubt. And the big, splendid 
moments were the times when faith led me along 
a dim path towards a goal which I could not see. 
In brief, it might have been morning all the way— 
eighty years of morning—if I had only believed 
and gone straight ahead! 

“This is my message to you: Let your whole 
life be morning. Have no eclipses of faith. Glory 
in tribulations. Your great Taskmaster knows 
what is best! Prosperity and adversity will work 
together for your good! In all things give thanks, 
for every calamity conceals a blessing. Nothing but 
what is good can ever touch your life if you trust 
and obey the One who said, ‘Lo, I am with you 
always.’ And all that death can do is to make 
your morning eternal!” 



59 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“Consider the Lilies” 

I T was well known in the village that Aunt 
Betty had a houseplant of the night-blooming 
eereus variety. Aunt Betty was poor, worked 
hard and had little leisure, yet she never neglected 
her plant. Indeed, for ten years she had cared for 
it with unceasing fidelity. 

“You see, it is my family—all that I have,” 
said Aunt Betty. 

The other day she knocked eagerly at a neigh¬ 
bor’s door. “You know,” said she in much ex¬ 
citement, “I’m just sure it will bloom this very 
night. It looks so different! I want you to tell 
the folks about it. Invite them to come and 
share with me this glorious beauty!” 

That evening, almost the entire population 
of the little town assembled on Aunt Betty’s 
lawn. They were awed and silent, speaking only 
in whispers. And as the moon shone through the 
trees, the mighty miracle took place; one by one 
the wonderful blossoms appeared. 

It was amazing to note how this voiceless, un¬ 
folding beauty affected the humble people 
gathered there. Late in the night they turned 
away, speaking to Aunt Betty, who was well 

pleased and smiling, such words as these: 

60 


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“Well, I feel like I have been to church!” 

“No one could see that, and not believe in 
God!” 

“I don’t know why, but it made me think of 
mother and heaven!” 

“The great Teacher gave good advice when He 
said, ‘Consider the lilies.’ ” 

“Aunt Betty, I felt like I ought to have re¬ 
moved my shoes.” 

And one, a poor deformed creature, said: 
“That same power will make me beautiful some 
day . 9 9 

Thus they departed, each thinking of God! 
The flower, through the sweet, irresistible elo¬ 
quence of its beauty, had declared in a most won¬ 
derful way—the glory of God! And I thought of 
the One who walked the earth, the long ago— 
even the Son of God! And I remembered that 
He set before His disciples this same fine task: 
“Even so let your light shine before men, that 
they may see your good works, and glorify your 
Father who is in heaven.” 



61 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Our Unknown Dead 

They tell me of graves beyond the sea 
Where the stars their vigils keep; 

They bear no name, just a deathless fame; 

There our unknown heroes sleep. 

Well known were they when they went away; 

Some mother blessed them then; 

They felt the bliss of a sweetheart’s kiss, 

And the touch of a sister’s hand. 

Then came the terrible things of war! 

All that they had they gave! 

Yes, laid it down for a martyr’s crown 
And to sleep in a nameless grave! 

Yet it matters not, 0 soldiers brave, 

That your names are unchiseled there, 

For in God’s “Who’s Who” there’s a place for 
you, 

All gilded with colors fair. 



62 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“Love Never Faileth” 

I KNOW a home which is the abode of poverty, 
toil and constant pain. Yet one can not remain 
there, even for one brief hour, without feeling 
that something fine and sweet and good abides in 
that place. There is an atmosphere of love, kind¬ 
ness, courtesy, gentleness, contentment, such as 
one seldom finds on this earth. The poor furnish¬ 
ings are forgotten in the presence of this greater 
thing, which, indeed, is priceless. It is quickly felt, 
though not easily described. 

There is an invalid mother in this home who 
knows that she will never leave her couch until 
her spirit is summoned to the better and higher 
life. 

There is a father who toils long hours each 
day, and for a small wage. 

There is a son, just entering high school, who 
delivers papers both morning and evening, proud¬ 
ly placing his earnings into his mother’s wasted 
hands. 

There is a daughter who, aside from her house¬ 
hold duties, is stenographer for a great business 
enterprise. 

Each day is filled to the brim with tasks which 
must be done. 


5 


63 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Still, there are bright smiles, clear-ringing 
laughter, pleasing jests, cheerful optimism and 
undimmed hope beneath this lowly roof. 

A visitor, lingering for a happy moment, just 
yesterday, noted these precious deeds, all done 
with a natural grace which marked them as be¬ 
ing habitual: 

The son entered his mother’s room with twink¬ 
ling eyes and one hand held behind him. 

Said the mother: “What have you in that 
other hand, you blessed boy?” It was a bunch of 
violets, fresh from the woods, which he held 
gently to her pale, sunken cheeks. 

The daughter came with a book from the 
public library, and, with a kiss, placed it in her 
mother’s hands. “I think you will like it, 
mother,” she said. 

The father sat by the bed and told a funny 
story he had heard that day, yet one could see 
that he was all worn with toil! 

“What a wonderful home you have!” said the 
visitor. “What makes it so rich and full?” 

“It is mother,” said the son. 

“It is love and mother,” said the daughter. 

“It is Christ and love and mother,” said the 
father. 

“It is the love of Christ, the mind of Christ, 
in all of us,” said the little mother. 


64 




SEEDS OF SERVICE 


The Preacher 

F OR thirty years he was the clerk in the village 
grocery story, and for a small wage. He knew 
every one in the community, and was known of 
all. He did the heavy work at the store and 
delivered the groceries. 

He was a sincere Christian, and had the con¬ 
fidence of every one. On Sundays he always 
stood at the church door and welcomed those 
who entered. He was a very commonplace man, 
as far as his ability for doing things was con¬ 
cerned. He could not sing. His public prayers 
were very brief and faintly uttered—usually, just 
one trembling sentence. Short talks at prayer- 
meetings were his only attempts at public ad¬ 
dress. 

Yet, he was locally known as “The Preacher.” 
It was his custom to write little messages, en¬ 
closing them with the packages he delivered. 
Often a customer, receiving a box of groceries on 
Saturday, would find this caution: “Remember, 
to-morrow is the Lord’s Day,” or, “Don’t forget 
the Bible school at ten o ’clock. ’ ’ 

A heart recently bereaved would read these 
words: “Study the fifteenth chapter of 1 Corin¬ 
thians. ’ ’ 


65 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


One deep in trouble would discover this line: 
“All things work together for good.” 

Another, known to have a grievance against 
a neighbor, would read this: “Remember, a true 
Christian should be glad to go the second mile.” 

The critical or suspicious person would dis¬ 
cover this little sentence: “Love thinketh no 
evil.’ ’ 

When his earthly career ended, the whole 
town attended his funeral. No one was surprised 
when the minister took for his text these words: 
“For he was a good man.” 

But there was amazement when a prominent 
attorney, widely heralded as an infidel, arose and 
said: “I want to speak just one little word. 
The man who sleeps here was my neighbor. We have 
had many good-natured arguments concerning the 
tenets of Christianity. It was easy for me to 
answer the logic of his words, for they were 
few and poor! But I say unto you that I 
can not answer the logic of his life. As a keeper 
of the peace, as a promoter of righteousness, as 
a molder of character, this humble grocery clerk 
has done more for this community than any 
dozen of our so-called ‘leading citizens.’ And oh, 
I say unto you, I would like to have the thing 
that made that little man what he was!” 

And he sat down, a strong man in tears! 

“For my power,” quoted the minister, softly, 
“is made perfect in weakness.” 

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A Baby’s Smile 

I T was a warm, sultry afternoon in mid-summer. 

The car was crowded with people returning, 
tired and impatient, from the daily grind of toil. 
Brows were knitted. There was a general atmos¬ 
phere of discomfort and discontent. 

A young mother entered with a babe of some 
six months. A young man surrendered his seat, 
and then the baby laughed, in a baby’s own 
sweet way. The passengers responded to the 
little one’s happy mood in a most amazing way. 
Hard lines vanished, stern faces relaxed. There 
were smiles, greetings, friendly nods. It was as 
though the tiny tot radiated good cheer, kindness, 
hope. The magic of the baby’s smile made all 
things new! 

The people departed, one by one, and in 
groups of twos and threes. All were better and 
happier, because, for a little moment, they had 
forgotten the hard things of life! And then, in 
widely scattered homes—homes of plenty and 
homes of poverty—one could easily imagine the 
story of the smiling baby being told and other 
transformations wrought. 

Indeed, I wonder, by what standard could any 
one measure the value of that laughing baby 



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face? Where did that smile end? Will not all 
time and eternity be richer in everything that 
is good and beautiful because of that baby’s 
sunshine ? 

Small wonder that Jesus loved the presence of 
children; that He took them in His arms and 
blessed them; that He so often set a child in the 
midst; and no wonder that in God’s book it is 
written: “A little child shall lead them**l 

Smile on, 0 unconquerable army of Baby¬ 
hood! The drab, old world is thy debtor always! 
We can not forget God and good while thou art 
with us! 



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Feeling at Home in Heaven 


LITTLE group of * 4 inner circle” Christians 



i \ were discussing, at a mid-week prayer service, 
the practical, fundamental purpose of Christianity. 

“I regard Christianity,” said a little woman 
with locks of snow, “as a course in spiritual cul¬ 
ture. I am trying to so live this life of prepara¬ 
tion that, when I reach heaven, I shall feel at 
home there. I am loyal to Christ, because He has 
prepared this place for me. I am loyal to the 
church, because it helps me to prepare myself 
for this place. I have learned to ‘give thanks 
always for all things/ because I believe that ‘all 
things work together for good.’ ” 

Feeling at home in heaven! 

I am wondering, little mother, if you know 
just how big is the word which you have spoken. 
Could any one have a higher goal, entertain a 
nobler hope or set himself to a finer task ? Where 
is the wise man who can give to a perplexed 
world a better message? Many books burden 
the literature of the world, but one must need 
scan many weary pages before he finds a riper 
wisdom than your own! 

On the pages of the Book we find this word: 
“Your citizenship is in heaven.” Again: “And 


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every man that hath this hope in him purifieth 
himself even as he is pure.” With what clear 
vision did the humble speaker at the prayer¬ 
meeting discern the connection between the 
“hope” of the latter verse and the “goal” of 
the former. She was using the life that now is 
as the means of preparing herself to enjoy the 
life that is life indeed. * 

Little mother, we wish you good speed in your 
divinely appointed task, nor shall you fail to 
find a “cozy corner” up there, where you will 
feel at home. 



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The Garden of Your Life 

In the wilderness of life, 

In this world of work and strife, 

There’s a garden, and the owner lives within. 
’Tis your duty here below 
To till this garden row by row, 

To free it from the ugly weeds of sin. 

In this garden you should sow 
Just the things you want to grow; 

So be careful in the choosing of your seeds. 
“As you sow so shall you reap,” 

Is a caution you should keep. 

’Tis true alike of thoughts and words and 
deeds. 

All around your garden wall 
Weeds are growing, rank and tall. 

Keep your sickle always ready, and your hoe. 
When a weed is down and dead, 

Plant a flower in its stead; 

For something should be growing there, you 
know. 


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When, at last, the setting sun 
Tells you that the day is done, 

You’ll be glad to know you’ve kept your garden 
clean. 

For the flowers growing there 
Shall transplanted be, with care, 

To a garden where the leaves are always green. 






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The Unknown Great 

O N a poor little street, in a poor little house, 
there lives a woman who, because of the heavy 
and tragic burden that rests upon her, often 
sobs, softly, in the night! Softly, I say, lest she 
awaken her sleeping children! In the morning 
she faces her task with a brave smile and the 
voice of song. 

“I know,” said she just recently, “that the 
good Lord will give me strength to carry this 
load. But I want to do more than just carry it; 
I want to do it with a smiling face! It is my 
hope that my children may never see my face 
disfigured by a frown or hear me speak one 
word of complaint. I want you to pray for me 
at night. If I am weak enough to sob, may my 
children sleep, and not know!” 

Just the other day, on the same poor little 
street, in another poor little house, a woman, toil¬ 
ing at the washtub, fell unconscious to the floor. 
She lived only a few moments. An examination 
showed that for years she had suffered from 
a painful and malignant disease, and no one 
knew! 

Not on the field of battle, where strong men die, 

do we see a finer spirit than was manifested by 

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this humble toiler, who, with a thousand sorrows 
in her heart, bore her burden without a murmur. 

Said the doctor: “This woman has endured 
almost constant agony for at least five years.’’ 

“Did your mother ever complain?” asked a 
kind-hearted neighbor of her little girl. 

“No! Never at all! She was nearly always 
singing ‘ ’Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus.’ A few 
times I have found her in tears, but she would 
always cough and say that she had a cold! I 
never knew that she was sick or in pain.” 

And yet there are those who say that there is 
a dearth of greatness among the children of men! 
I say unto you that it is well with the world 
when, on one poor little street, there can be found 
two such instances of noble endurance, self-effac¬ 
ing love and beautiful martyrdom! 



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“There Remaineth a Rest” 


TIRED woman was prostrate on a bed of pain. 



Her life had been full of toil, poverty and 
many unpleasant things, yet she had met them in 
a right brave way. At last her bodily machinery 
had broken beneath the heavy strain, and, with 
a weary smile, she had gone to her bed, there to 
await the summons to the higher life. 

“You know,” said she to a neighbor visitor, 
“when I think of heaven, it is, above all, as a 
place of rest. This is, to me, its sweetest meaning. 
To some, heaven is just home; to others, ‘an in¬ 
heritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth 
not away;’ to still others, ‘it is a crown of right¬ 
eousness;’ to many, it is a city four-square, with 
jasper walls and streets of gold; but, to me, 
heaven is more than these. It is more than 
home, more than an inheritance, more than a 
crown or a city of gold. To me, heaven is rest! 
I am so tired! It seems to me that I have never 
been able to completely relax! I just long to 
sit in the shade of the trees on the shore of the 
river of life, and rest! Among the sweet and 
wonderful promises found in God’s book, this is 
to me precisely the most precious: ‘There re¬ 
maineth a rest to the people of God.’ ” 


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And who shall say that she was not wiser than 
others? Or who shall say that she was living 
above her privileges? Why not think of heaven 
as the fruition of our highest, dearest hopes? 
May we not conclude that the pen of inspiration 
describes heaven in the language of figure, that 
each one may choose the one which most com¬ 
pletely satisfies the heart? 

To the deformed, it is beauty! 

To the homeless, a mansion! 

To the poor, an inheritance! 

To the sick, a place where there is no pain, for 
the “leaves of the tree were for the healing of the 
nations. ’ ’ 

To those who weep, a land without tears! 

To those who have kept long vigils, a, country 
where there is no night! 

To those “who hunger and thirst after right¬ 
eousness,” “the Holy City”! 

To those who have said good-by to departed 
love, a landscape without a grave! 

Oh, yes, tired pilgrim, with fullest confidence 
you may claim your coveted boon. For did not 
He who is to greet you over there say: “Come 
unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, 
and I will give you rest”? 


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A Little Gray House 

I found me a house in the edge of the woods; 

It was little and old and gray, 

But the spirit of peace was in that house, 

And the calm of a summer day. 

I found good friends in the little gray house: 

A bluebird sat in a tree, 

And nodded its head, in a friendly way, 

And sang a sweet song, just for me! 

On the sunset side of the little gray house 
Was a honeysuckle vine, all in bloom; 

Its petals were white as a wall of snow! 

And oh, what a sweet perfume! 

’Neath the trees, just back of the little gray house, 
A brook flowed in happy delight; 

It called to me in the early dawn, 

And lulled me to sleep at night. 

I found me a house in the edge of the woods, 

It was little and old and gray; 

I found me a bird, a vine and a brook, 

Some trees—and a glad holiday! 


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Selling Good News 

H ERE you are!” shouted Jakey the newsboy. 

“All about the good work done by the Y. W. 
C. A.! ” “ Fewer cases in police court this morn¬ 

ing!” “Great educator says the world is grow¬ 
ing better.” “Lot’s of good news! That’s what 
I’m selling! Good news! Sell it and tell it! 
That’s me!” 

“My lad, has the millennium come?” asked 
a man as he reached for his paper. 

“I don’t know,” answered Jakey, “but if it 
is a good thing, I hope it’s here or on the road.” 
And he grinned in such a friendly way that his 
red hair and freckles became things of beauty. 

“But where did you get the idea of selling 
good news?” questioned the customer. “That’s 
an absolutely new idea with me and I like it. It’s 
a lot better than shouting out the bad news.” 

“Well,” answered Jakey, “I’ve been selling 
bad news, myself, until just the last few days. 
You see, I dropped in at a Sunday school a few 
weeks ago. It’s a little brick church up in the 
North End. There’s a regular guy up there. He 
gave me the idea. He says that we ought to call 
attention to good things. People will see them 

if they are pointed out. So that’s what I’m doing. 

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That guy says that the word ‘gospel’ means good 
news. ’ ’ 

“But can you always find something in the 
paper that’s goodf 

“I’ve never failed yet,” said Jakey. Once, 
the only thing I could find was a few lines, 
on the last page, about a ragged tramp saving the 
life of a little girl, who was about to be run over 
by an automobile. But, believe me, I yelled her 
out! ’ ’ 

“How does it work from a business standpoint? 
Do you sell as many papers as you did in the old 
way ? ’ ’ 

“Sure! I sell more papers and I feel lots 
tetter on the inside!” 



6 


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The Up-hill Road 

You stand at the parting of Life’s highway; 

You pause when the roads divide; 

Which way to go is the thing, you know, 

Which all must there decide. 

As you make your choice of the different roads, 
Choose one that leads up from the rest; 

And as you go along, you’ll sing a glad song, 

For the up-hill road is the best. 

The down-hill road is the popular way, 

And the tempter will beckon you come. 

For it’s easy to slide and it’s easy to glide, 

But it leads you away from home! 

You have to climb on the up-hill road; 

Walk, while others run; 

But, oh, what a view will welcome you 
When life’s brief day is done! 

Yes, other roads may seem more smooth, 

And the crowd more blithesome and gay, 

But you’ll reach your goal and save your soul, 
If you travel the up-hill way. 


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“Peace, Be Still” 

The night was dark, 

The elements were at war; 

Wild and fierce did the lightning gleam; 

The din of thunder was not unlike the roar of 
opposing cannon; 

The voice of the wind was dismal and sad, yet fear¬ 
ful as a pitiless thing; 

The old world was like a ship tempest-tossed and 
helpless, in a mad sea’s embrace. 

I breathed a prayer and slept. 

In the morning, I awakened. 

The glad world waved me a fond greeting; 

The grass looked up with a chastened freshness; 

The leaves nodded a sweet message of hope; 

The birds sang as they sang not yesterday; 

The flowers wafted to me a fragrance that seemed 
the promises of a lost Eden, restored; 

Sunshine and shade kissed as lovers, long sepa¬ 
rated ; 

Everywhere, on field and forest and meadow, there 
were peace and beauty and harmony and 
victory. 

Wilt thou learn the lesson, 

0 my soul? 


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Be patient and wait. 

The world is in travail—hasten not the birth-hour. 
The new dawn is coming; 

Where there is war, there shall be peace. 

Discord shall yield to the soft wooings of harmony. 
The clouds of despair shall rift and the Morning 
Star of hope shall shine, 

For the world is God’s world; 

And there is a balm for every sore spot, 

And a rainbow for every storm. 



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Weaving, Rainbows 

I WAS watering my flowers, just yesterday, 
using the spray attachment of the garden hose, 
when my little boy, who was watching, exclaimed 
in pleased wonder: “Oh, papa, see tine beautiful 
rainbow you are making!” 

I looked at the place indicated by his eagerly 
outstretched hand, but saw nothing except a mass 
of finest spray. 

“Your eyes are keener than mine,’ , I answered, 
“if you can see a rainbow out there!” 

He came running to the place where I was 
standing, and was much saddened because his 
happy discovery had, seemingly, faded. He could 
see no rainbow! 

“It has gone,” he said, while the tears threat¬ 
ened to flow. “But it was there a moment ago!” 

Returning to his former position, he clapped 
his hands in glad triumph. “Oh! it’s still there! 
Come and see it!” 

We exchanged places, and there, sure enough, 
was a cheerful bridge of color, arching gracefully, 
above the flowers! 

“You can’t see it, unless you stand in the right 
place,” said the little fellow. But he did not 

know how wisely he had spoken! 

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Standing in the right place! This is, indeed, 
the important thing! There is always a rainbow 
wherever God’s abiding love shines through the 
falling tears of a believing, trusting soul. If we 
stand on the promises which God has made to us, 
through Jesus Christ, we can always see the rain¬ 
bow of hope. Take these simple illustrations, notic¬ 
ing first the mist, then the rainbow: 

You are an obscure, one-talented individual— 
“My strength is made perfect in weakness!” 

You have been wronged, misrepresented, falsely 
accused—“Blessed are ye when men shall reproach 
you and persecute you.” 

Your fond hopes have been defeated, your 
beloved enterprises have failed—“All things work 
together for good.” 

You are poor, you have no home—“I go to 
prepare a place for you.” 

You weep beside the silent dust of departed 
love—“Thy brother shall rise again.” 

Your work is well-nigh ended, the sunset is 
just before you—“Henceforth there is laid up for 
me the crown of righteousness.” “And so shall 
we ever be with the Lord.” 

Oh, weary pilgrim! doubt not this: Wherever 
there is a tear, a broken heart, a burden, a dis¬ 
appointment, a dark experience, there is, also, a 
rainbow of glorious promise, if you stand in the 
right place! 

Which shall it he, the mist or the rainbow? 

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God’s Out-of-doors 

The biggest things are all outside; 

Outside in meadow, in brook, 

In shady lane, in fields of grain, 

Where, to have, you’ve only to look. 

A hook’s all right when you’re home at night, 
And the fire sheds a beautiful glow, 

But who wants to scan what’s been written by man, 
When God speaks wherever you go? 

Outside I’m as rich as a king on a throne; 

I can loiter, or rest, or roam. 

No lock and key can fetter me 
Out here in my great, big home. 

This grass at my feet is my carpet meet; 

This mossy log my throne; 

The trees and sky my castle high; 

These daisies, this path, mine own. 

I’m glad that, when God made the world, 

He made plenty of mountain and moor— 

Made more of the best than He did of the rest, 
And put it outside for the poor. 


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“We Shall Be Like Him” 

1 KN0W two people who, for more than fifty 
years, have walked, side by side, along the path¬ 
way of life. The road has not always been 
smooth. There have been dark valleys and steep 
hills. There have been anxious moments and 
times when the hours weighed heavily. There 
have, also, been glad seasons of victory and 
happy realization of fond dreams. And, through 
it all, they have manifested the true spirit of 
comradeship and kind, sympathetic helpfulness. 
Gladly have they shared with each other the 
laughter and tears, the honey and the wormwood, 
of each passing experience. 

Those who have watched this couple through 
the years have noted this beautiful and remark¬ 
able fact: They seem to have constantly become 
more and more like each other! They have the 
same little mannerisms, the same gestures, the same 
preferences. They look, speak, act alike! There 
are no clashings of opinions, no arguments, no con¬ 
tentions, no dividing issues. When one speaks, you 
feel that had the other spoken, the same words 
would have been said. When one is questioned in 

the absence of the other, there is no waiting for 

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consultation—the one present speaks, confidently, 
for both! 

“I wish you would tell me,” said a good friend, 
who had known them long, “the process by which 
you have become so like each other! It was not 
this way in the old days. There were sharp differ¬ 
ences then. To-day, you are more like brother and 
sister, than husband and wife. How do you ac¬ 
count for the transformation which has made you 
both so different and yet so similar? What has 
become of the unlovely things?” 

‘ * I think, ’ ’ answered one, while the other 
smiled approval. “I think it is because we have 
each been following the same Leader, the same Ideal. 
Through the years, we have been trying to culti¬ 
vate the mind, the disposition, the character of 
Jesus Christ. Of course, we have failed in a very 
large degree. But, by constant striving, we have 
lessened the distance between His glorious per¬ 
fection and our ignoble weakness! We have 
both honestly tried, and are still prayerfully 
seeking, each day, to become more and more like 
Him.” 

“And is it not a precious thought,” the other 
one was speaking, “that we can, here and now, 
have Christ in us as ‘the hope of glory’? This con¬ 
stant desire and struggle to be like the blessed 
Christ, together with the small progress that is 
made, each day, toward this goal, is a prophecy 

and a guarantee that ‘we shall be changed into the 

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the same image from glory to glory’! The very 
best that can be said of us is this: As we have 
walked together through the years, there has never 
been a time when we have ceased to ‘hunger and 
thirst after righteousness.’ The abiding presence 
of this deep, unsatisfied hunger is the most price¬ 
less possession that is ours, as we approach the sun¬ 
set of life.” 

“And along with the hunger to be like 
Christ,” added the one who had spoken first, 
“there has come to us, in recent years, a great 
longing to be with Him. We are not impatient or 
dissatisfied, even in the smallest measure. We are 
just gladly waiting to be summoned into His 
presence! ’ ’ 

I wonder if there is any thoughtful person, any¬ 
where, who really believes that a faith like this 
is doomed to disappointment, or that a hope like 
this shall fail of its fruition! 



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A Seed by the Wayside 

The pilgrim paused on his weary way, 

And planted a seed at the close of day; 

Planted a seed by a garden wall, 

As the sun went down—and that was all. 

Many came where the flower grew, 

And enjoyed its fragrance; but no one knew— 
No one knew who planted the seed; 

No one witnessed the sunset deed. 

One came that way in bitter grief, 

Lingered awhile and found relief; 

Found sweet relief in flowing tears, 

And forgot the burden of the years. 

Another came, all steeped in crime, 

Paused and pondered for a little time, 

And then he left, no more a knave, 

But to plant a flower on his mother’s grave. 

A maiden came with blushes red, 

Tempted the path of shame to tread, 

But the flower nodded and seemed to say: 

“You’d better be true to the up-hill way.” 

Thus the pilgrim slept in his unknown grave, 
While the flower its beauty and fragrance gave, 
Pointing the way from the dust and sod— 

The way that leads to Home and God. 

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Somebody Came 

Somebody came to me one day, 

And helped me over a rough, steep way; 

His step was sure, his arm was strong, 

And he filled my heart with a glad, sweet song. 

Somebody came to me one day, 

When the sky seemed cold and dead and gray; 
His speech was kind, his heart was right, 

And he filled my soul with a calm, soft light. 

Somebody came to me one day, 

As I watched the black, black shadows play; 

He matched his faith against my doubt, 

And he put the dark things all to rout. 

Somebody came to me one day, 

And I owe him much I would fain repay. 

Of faith and hope and charity, 

This somebody-man who came to me! 



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“Having Eyes They See Not” 

T HERE was a man who set himself to do a great 
work. He had a vision of the finished task 
in his heart. It was a glorious achievement, but 
hitherto, undone! When he tried to clothe his 
dream in reality, he found many things to hinder 
and oppose. He toiled long and patiently, nor did 
he forget to pray! While he fought his brave 
battle the world passed, unconcernedly, on its 
way and noticed him not at all. 

This indifference, the man could not under¬ 
stand. It disturbed him beyond measure. Final¬ 
ly he said: “People do not sympathize or help, 
because they do not see. When I tell them of 
my fine ambition, then they will encourage and 
applaud . 9 ’ 

So he told the story of his purpose and his 
struggle to a circle of friends. And, because he 
saw doubt, disappointment and impatience writ¬ 
ten on their faces, he faltered in the telling. He 
knew that he had failed. He knew that they did 
not see or understand. 

“Well/’ said one of the company, “I hesitate 
to speak a word of discouragement, but candor 
compels me to say that it seems to be a very poor 
thing!’ ’ 


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“Even if you succeed,” questioned a second, 
“where is the profit to you?*’ 

“My friend,” said another, “your enterprise 
is not for a world like this!” 

“To me,” added a fourth, “it all seems very 
vague and intangible, a will-o’-the-wisp sort of 
thing/ * 

So the man went away with a great sorrow in 
his soul. “It were much better/’ thought he, 
“had I not spoken.’’ 

But he could not give up his work! 

“I must keep trying/’ he said; “I may fail, 
but at least I can invest my life.” 

And this he did in very truth! Unknown, un¬ 
helped, unnoticed, he spent his splendid strength 
unsparingly. Poverty, tears, anxiety were his. 
He was misunderstood, doubted, branded as a 
fanatic. But he never quit! At last success came 
—or was near at hand. He saw it coming, smiled 
—and died. 

Said one of those who had listened to his story: 
“He tried so hard to make us understand, but our 
eyes were holden, and we could not see! ” 

“Our hearts were blind,” said another, “blinded 
by our own selfish interests. We were thinking of 
compensation and reward, he was thinking of sac¬ 
rifice and service. We were seeking to use the 
world, he was trying to help the world.” 

“What are we going to do now?” questioned 

the wisest of the group. 4 ‘ Shall we piously rebuke 

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ourselves for our blindness, garnish our friend’s 
sepulchre, and then continue in the same selfish 
paths ? If so, woe be unto us. Rather, shall we not 
live closer to Him who was this man’s good Master? 
He, also, was misjudged by His friends. They 
said of this One: 'He is beside himself* We must 
live closer to Jesus, then it will be easy for us to 
help others coin noble 'purposes into blessed reali¬ 
ties!” 



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What Shall We Sidetrack? 

T HEY were members of a 4 ‘Higher Thought 
Club,” and had assembled to hear some great 
one speak on “The First Things of Life.” 

“There goes Mrs. B.,” said one who was facing 
the street window. I urged her to attend our 
meeting, but she plead an important errand and 
declined. She wouldn’t even tell me where she 
was going!” 

Said another: “She is such a sweet woman in 
many ways. But don’t you think she is a bit self¬ 
ish?” 

“I most certainly do!” responded a third. 
“She always has so many little things on her daily 
program. ’ ’ 

“That’s exactly the truth!” volunteered a rich¬ 
ly dressed woman, with a hard face. “She don’t 
sidetrack the right things. She is so completely 
engrossed in the little and the commonplace that 
she misses the fine, big things of life. She is a 
neat housekeeper, but she permits the cobwebs to 
accumulate in her mental drawing-room!” 

“ It is certainly too bad, ’ ’ said the first speaker, 
“that she should dissipate her splendid abilities in 
such small matters, for really she is a very capable 
woman. ’ ’ 


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Thus each said something about the woman who 
had passed the clubhouse window. All, except one 
little woman, had spoken. 

“Well,” she said, “I happen to know just where 
Mrs. B. is going this afternoon. I think that she 
will not be pleased at what I am going to say, but 
I feel that, in justice to her and to you who 
have spoken. I dare not remain, longer, silent. 
You noticed, no doubt, that she was carrying a 
book and a cluster of roses. She has gone to read 
to an old, blind woman down the street, whose 
daughter has to work in the afternoon. They are 
very poor, this mother and daughter. The old 
lady can only live a few days. The roses, also, are 
for her!” 

As she finished, profound silence reigned in 
the clubroom. 

“I do not want to pose as a preacher,” con¬ 
tinued the little woman, “but I am wondering if 
I ought not to say one or two things about our 
absent member. When my little girl was in the 
hospital, Mrs. B. took charge of my home, looking 
after my other children as though they were her 
own. 

“She not only chaperoned, but financed, the 
outing for the children in the orphans’ home. Yet 
this is the third season for that coat she is wearing 
this afternoon on her mission of kindness. 

“No tramp or beggar ever goes, unfed, from 
her door! 

7 


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“Every Lord’s Day morning she takes an auto¬ 
mobile load of old and crippled people to the Sun¬ 
day-school and church services, while her own 
children walk, and gladly. 

“I know of more than one wild, wayward girl 
who has been rescued from dangerous paths by 
the sweet magic of this woman’s love. 

“My sermon is finished now,” and the speaker 
smiled so charmingly that all bitterness was taken 
from her words. “Let me make this appeal to 
your candor and my own: Who is really getting 
the most out of life; who is putting the most into 
life; who is sidetracking the lesser things—we who 
make up this self-centered group, sitting at ease 
in our well-furnished clubroom, or the woman with 
the book and the roses, who for a little while is fur¬ 
nishing light and fragrance to one who sits with 
sightless eyes?” 

For a moment no word was spoken. Then she 
of the hard face, now, however, soft and tear- 
stained, said: “We are the losers! And oh, how 
small and unworthy I feel!” 

“We will sing the doxology and offer prayer,” 
said the president, who was not without tact! 


96 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Victorious Li^ht 


HIS morning, when I arose, the world was en- 



1 shrouded in deep gloom. A heavy fog rested 
everywhere. Mistaking this fog for clouds, I im¬ 
mediately concluded that a dark day was due. 
Glancing toward the east, I saw a faint glimmer 
of light, or, rather, shall I say, a promise of light, 
breaking the monotony of what, otherwise, would 
have been a great wall of mist and darkness. It 
was the rising sun ready to fight the shadows! 

Engaged in other matters for a little time, I 
again looked eastward. Things were somewhat 
different now. For there, plainly discernible, was 
a dim, white circle of light, framed by the sur¬ 
rounding mists. As I watched, the circle became 
bigger, brighter, sending out little arms of radiance 
as though to caress the blackness, changing it 
into light also. And then the sun burst forth in 
all its matchless beauty and glory; leaves and 
flowers, weighted with crystal moisture, bowed as 
though in thankfulness for their dewy cleansing; 
while the world looked pleased and young as it 
greeted the good light. 

The battle was ended and light was the vic¬ 
tor! Slowly, silently, victory had come, and with 
all the gentleness and softness of an evening 


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prayer or love’s good-night kiss! Nor was it 
easy to believe that all this beautiful light had 
so recently been held in leash by grim darkness! 

I was reminded of Him who said: “I am the 
light of the world.” I thought, also, of the black 
shadows which, through the years, had struggled 
to dim the radiance of this light from above. I 
thought of superstition and prejudice; doubt and 
ignorance; unbelief and stubbornness. I remem¬ 
bered that long, terrible list of things which, like a 
huge wall of gloom, had sought to hide this light 
from a world that had been anxiously waiting 
for the dawn and the daybreak. 

I am glad to believe that this light is winning 
in its fight against the dark things. Let Pessimism 
watch the retreating shadows, saying mournfully, 
“See! They are coming this way!” Let Preju¬ 
dice sit in its dark cave, contemplating the cold, 
silent gloom, repeating these tragic words: “There 
is no light anywhere!” Let Unbelief whisper: “It 
is just a mirage—this seeming light! In a moment 
it will fade.” Let Ignorance stand in the market¬ 
place and shout: “It was brighter yesterday! The 
old days were the best! Soon there will be eternal 
eclipse!” Yet, in spite of these voices, Faith views 
the horizon of the future, tranquil and unafraid. 
Faith sees that the light is spreading, and has al¬ 
ready spread, far! And Hope, speaking in the 
“still small voice” of Love, says: “It shall not 

cease to spread until the kingdom of light shall 

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have * no frontiers’ in God’s world; until darkness 
shall have no hiding-place; until the perfect day 
shall dawn.” 

Shine on, 0 conquering Christ! Shine on, 0 
glorious light of God’s love! 



✓ 



99 


) 

) 

i 


» ) i 








SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Making, tke Yesterdays 
Beautiful 

I SUPPOSE, ’ ’ said the girl with the laughing eyes, 
“that I am either very selfish or very blind, 
for I never could grasp the meaning of these 
words: ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’ 
Let me confess that I quoted this verse at a 
prayer service the other day, and I felt so mean, 
cheap and hypocritical that I silently resolved 
never to repeat the offense. However true it may 
be, in the experience of others, in my own I do 
not find it so! I do and give from a sense of 
duty, but, oh, I just absolutely love to receive! 
Auntie, can you help me to understand? Am I a 
sinner above those ‘upon whom the tower of Siloam 
fell,’ or am I simply stupid?” 

“My dear,” replied the sweet-faced lady, who 
was “Auntie” to everybody, “when I was your 
age I held precisely the same view. At that 
time, I also believed the things which we re¬ 
ceive make us rich and happy, but the passing 
years have convinced me that this is true only in 
the seeming. You see, as we grow older, we live 
more and more in the past. Memory goes back 

to the old days and the old ways. And I say 

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unto you, little girl, that the green places in my 
life mark those times when I turned aside for a 
brief moment and did some little, unselfish act in 
the name of Jesus Christ. The days when I 
just selfishly received favors seem all barren and 
wasted now. Let me,” she continued, and a 
softer note crept into her voice, “give you just 
one illustration. Some twenty years ago I gave 
Jimmie, the paper-boy, a copy of the New Testa¬ 
ment. Soon afterwards his family moved to 
another State, and I soon forgot all about Jimmie 
and my little gift. Well, just recently I received 
a letter from Jimmie. He is a man now, and a 
preacher of the gospel. He read the New Testa¬ 
ment, became a Christian, then prepared himself 
for the ministry, and is now happy in his work. 
Yes, and he calls me his ‘mother in the faith/ and 
declares that I, under God, deserve all the credit! 
I wish that I might tell you of the sweet joy that 
is mine because of this letter, and how it redeems 
a section of my life from utter and wretched 
barrenness. The old Book is right, here, as 
always! The things that we do and give in the 
name of Christ make us rich! They make the 
yesterdays beautiful, and tinge the present with 
a happy glow. 

“Oh, auntie, you have made it all so beauti¬ 
fully clear, and this very day I am going to 
start a bank account in heaven by adding a good 
deed to history /’ 


101 



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“And,” continued the older woman, “if we do 
and then forget, perhaps it is all the better. For 
there is One who always remembers. The 
Kang doesn’t forget. And when we hear him say, 
‘Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the king¬ 
dom,’ then, and not till then, will we be able to 
grasp the deeper meaning of these words: i It is 
more blessed to give than to receive.’ ” 



102 






SEEDS OF SERVICE 


The Gratitude of the Humhle 

I thank Thee, Lord, that I can pray 
In the spirit of a little child; 

And ask Thy guidance every day, 

’Midst voices strange and wild. 

I thank Thee, Lord, that I can grow 
Like what I hope to be; 

That those who watch me come and go, 

May know I’ve been with Thee. 

I thank Thee, Lord, that I can love, 

For love is always kind, 

And leads the way to realms above, 

Leaving baser things behind. 

I thank Thee, Lord, that I can work 
In partnership with Thee; 

Seeking no worthy task to shirk, 

And thus, rich, in service be. 

I thank Thee, Lord, for burdens great, 

That stoop me to the dust; 

That cause me on Thyself to wait, 

And in Thee always trust. 

I thank Thee, Lord, for a living hope, 

A beautiful winged thing, 

That leads the way on the upward slope 
To the place where the angels sing. 

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SEEDS OF SERVICE 


The Pilgrim 

O NE who had inherited much wealth left his 
village home, and for many years wandered in 
the strange and distant places of the world. And 
then one day he came back tired, and gray 
beyond his years. 

At a reception held in his honor, he spoke 
words like these: “I am wondering if you know 
how rich you are in everything that is really 
worth while, right here in this little village. I 
have seen about all of the beautiful and wonder¬ 
ful that there is on this earth. I have crossed 
every ocean, visited almost every land. I have 
walked the hot sand of the torrid desert and 
breathed the air of the eternal snow. I have 
forced my way through tangled jungles in places 
where it is always summer and where beautiful 
nature has furnished, with a lavish hand, all 
that man requires in order to live—he has only 
to pluck and eat. I have walked the streets of 
great cities, mingling with people whose words I 
did not understand and w T hose language I could 
not speak. I have watched the sun rise among 
the Alpine peaks and gazed at the red moon in 
the land of the Pyramids. But, I say unto you 

that nowhere have I seen anything so sweetly 

• 104 



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and charmingly beautiful as the smoke curling 
among the trees, above the roofs of your quiet 
homes, or the children at play on your green 
lawns. 

“I have entered costly temples and magnificent 
cathedrals, but nowhere have I felt so close to 
God as in the little white church at home, when 
I sat beside my mother and sang the old hymns 
of faith, and read with her from God’s book. 

4 4 I have walked softly among the tombs of 
the great, yet not once did I feel that I was stand¬ 
ing over nobler dust than is found in our own 
little cemetery, where the majestic trees keep 
watch! 

“I have stood where the white-crested waves 
beat against the rocks, and, standing there, I 
have wept as I thought of the path winding up 
the hill, by the old well, to the house where I 
was born! 

44 Oh, my friends! I wish you might know how 
rich you are! Rich in the things whose value 
can not be measured in money! All of the big 
things are here! You 4 have all things and 
abound! ’ Love is yours, and kindness, gentleness, 
patience, sweet unselfishness; you can help each 
other over the rough places in the path of life; you 
can forgive when mistakes are made, clasp hands 
in time of sorrow, rejoice together in moments of 
triumph, and, always, you can find time to look 

up into the face of God! 

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SEEDS OF SERVICE 


“I just want to be one of you, if I may, for a 
little while. For there is one country that I have 
not visited, one fair land that I have not seen. 
It lies beyond the shadow which we call death. 
In rushing to and fro, I have lost my bearings, 
somewhat, and I want you, my friends and neigh¬ 
bors, to help me find the way that leads to that 
good place. And then, with you, I want to go 
there and live forever! Live forever with Jesus 
Christ, with you, and the pure and good of all 
the ages! ( For our citizenship is in heaven.’ ” 



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SEEDS OF SERVICE 


The Autumn Leaf 

Come, learn a lesson from the autumn leaf, 
All dressed in scarlet and gold; 

Dropping down from a lofty throne, 

Down to the dirt and mold. 

See it flying in the sunlit air, 

So cheerful, playful and brave; 

Lingering for a happy moment there, 

Then dropping, at last, to a grave. 

Will you learn the lesson, child of man? 

May the leaf your teacher be? 

The God who fashioned the little leaf, 

Is the God who cares for thee. 

Then work and wait through the summer day, 
Accepting what He may send; 

Making your life, like the little leaf, 

Beautiful at the end! 



107 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


m 


Sowing Happiness 

I KNOW a man who makes it the rule of his 
life to speak words that comfort, cheer and en¬ 
courage others. And a bright glow of happiness 
has followed him through the years. 

He is not rich nor brilliant. He has no un¬ 
usual talent, no distinguishing ability. Yet, the 
world is his debtor for much that is good! 

I walked with this man, for awhile, one day, 
and here are some of the things which he did, and 
with a grace as beautiful and natural as the un¬ 
folding of the petals of a rose: 

He met a little boy with a poor, twisted back 
and said: “You’re a fine, manly little fellow!” 
The boy went on, but he was whistling now! 

He told a tired washwoman that it seemed to 
make the whole neighborhood clean , just to look 
at her spotless linen, hanging on the line. As he 
walked away the woman began to sing! 

To a discouraged preacher, he spoke these 
words: “You said something in your sermon, yester¬ 
day, which helped me in a very wonderful way!” 
The preacher responded, “And you are a very 
good friend!” then a new fire flashed in his eyes! 
To one who had been overtaken in a trespass, 

he made this statement, his face glowing with 

108 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


kindly interest: “You are too big to stay down 
in the dust. No one is defeated until he refuses 
to try again. I shall be deeply disappointed if 
you don’t make good. ’ ’ One could see that a 
new resolution was being formed in the man’s 
heart! 

He related a funny story to a sick child. The 
child laughed and forgot, for a moment, the burden 
of pain. When the doctor called, he declared 
that the crisis of the disease had been safely passed! 

“How did you learn to bestow happiness in 
such a sweet, spontaneous way?” questioned one 
who had been helped by his kind ministry. 

“Well,” he replied, “it was not always thus. 
When I became a Christian, I wanted to do so 
many things for Christ and His world, but could 
not, because of unfriendly circumstances. I wanted 
to give, but had no money! 

“I wanted to tell the story of God’s love to 
eager multitudes, but had neither culture nor 
eloquence! 

“I wanted to express the faith of my heart in 
melody, but I could not sing! 

“Then, one day, it occurred to me that it would 
be much wiser and better if, instead of lamenting 
because I did not have five talents, or even two, 
I would use my one little talent and thus spur it 
to greater growth. 

“I then asked myself this question: ‘Where and 

what is the thing that ought to be done, that 1 can 

109 



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SEEDS OF SERVICE 


doV Before I had looked far, I concluded that 
every one who is trying to do right needs en¬ 
couragement. So I prayed that I might be able, 
in some small way, to cheer people who are walk¬ 
ing among the shadows. At first it was hard to 
do. But it has become increasingly easier as the 
days pass. Now it is my chiefest joy!” 

1 wonder how rich he will be in heaven! 



110 





SEEDS OF SERVICE 


My Mother’s Smile 

As memory views the yesterdays, 

As I sit and muse awhile, 

One thing I see, that brings joy to me, 

’Tis a glimpse of mother’s smile. 

When things went wrong in the cottage home, 
When dark things would beguile, 

The black mist fled and the storm clouds sped 
From the light of mother’s smile. 

When I felt the sting of childish hurts, 
When sobbing tears flowed wild, 

Oh, the glorious bliss of mother’s kiss! 

And the healing of her smile! 

When the tempter came and I felt the pull 
Of things that would defile, 

’Twas easy to fight for God and right, 

When I thought of mother’s smile. 

The good years have been kind to me, 

As they swiftly crossed life’s dial; 

But no better thing did they ever bring 
Than my good, sweet mother’s smile. 

And when at last, with weary feet, 

I walk the sunset mile, 

Like a beckoning hand, from the spirit land, 

I’ll see my mother’s smile! 

ill 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


My Old-fashioned Mother 

In the book of my dreams, a face sweetly beams, 
More precious than rubies to me; 

It brings to my mind all that's gentle and kind, 
’Tis the face of my mother I see. 

She taught me to pray in the old-fashioned way; 

She tucked down the cover at night; 

She dried all my tears and banished my fears, 

And showed me the way that was right. 

This face which I see, that’s so precious to me, 

Is a picture of your mother too! 

And the end of the way will be glorious day 
If only to her we are true! 

The old-fashioned mother! 

The old-fashioned love! 

The old-fashioned tenderness too! 

The old-fashioned virtues that lead us above! 

My heart pays its tribute to you. 



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Faded Lines 


HEY were written on the fly-leaf of an old 



1 book, which, quite by accident, I picked up in 
a second-hand store. The book was yellow with age 
and the writing dim, yet I could easily read these 
words: “Our little girl is dead. I promised her 
and the brave, patient wife that I would take a 
fresh start and try again. God help me!” 

That was all. It was unsigned. 

It was hours before I could erase from my 
mind the three pictures which immediately sprang 
into being as I read these faded lines. There was 
the little girl who died, the patient wife and 
mother who bravely suffered, and the man who 
went wrong, and then, beside his dying child, 
promised to try once more! 

The little girl died. Alas! so many little graves 
in our cemeteries! So many children die! We 
feel that these little ones have not been treated 
kindly, that they have been denied something which 
is their due. Just a little glimpse of morning! 
No noon, no afternoon, no pleasant evening twi¬ 
light—just morning, then midnight! There is 
something tragically wrong with a world in which 
there are so many little graves. And yet we know 

that each little life is gloriously finished, else- 

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where! For who is so well prepared to enter and 
enjoy heaven as a little child? 

How long this little girl lived we can not 
know. At least, we know that she lived long 
enough for love’s clinging tendrils to attach them¬ 
selves to her father’s heart. Perhaps, as is the 
wont of children, she believed him to be great and 
strong and good. Or does the exacted promise 
imply that her eyes had opened in pained amaze¬ 
ment at the discovery of pitiful weakness where she 
had fondly expected splendid and noble strength? 
At any rate, she went away with that father’s 
promise to try again. Nor will it be well for him 
if he fails to keep that promise, sealed with tears, 
which was sobbed out in deep agony of soul as his 
little girl drifted away into the unseen. 

The mother bravely , patiently suffered! How 
like a mother is this! The finest thing of which 
I know is this voiceless suffering of womankind. 
This woman was harnessed, by the bond of love 
and “plighted troth,” to one who was weak and 
unworthy. He had failed her in life’s partner¬ 
ship. Yet she had kept her home; she had looked 
into the face of death in giving birth to her child; 
she had loved that child as only a mother can; she 
had watched that child droop and die; and finally 
she had moistened that tiny grave with her tears, 
and walked away with the lamp of hope still burn¬ 
ing in her heart! 

And the man promised to try again! 

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SEEDS OF SERVICE 


What a blessed privilege is this that God has 
placed before us! We may start wrong, retrace, 
and then go in the right direction. He is not wise 
who judges quickly as to the success or failure of 
a life. We must needs wait until the journey is 
ended. For the pilgrim may wander far among 
the shadows and then be facing the true goal at 
sunset. 

So this man who had fallen into evil ways 
resolved to try once more. Very hopeful is this, 
and full of promise. For no man can be defeated 
who, being down, gets up with a prayer on his 
lips and a good resolution in his heart. Let us 
believe that, for this man, the fresh start was the 
final, victorious start for home. Let us believe that 
the good Father heard the little prayer, “God 
help me,” and that, in the evening, the weary 
wanderer saw a great light shining! 



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SEEDS OF SERVICE 


Going, Home 

1 STOOD, for a little while, on a certain busy cor¬ 
ner and watched the people, the lowly of earth, 
as they hurried to their homes after the work and 
worry of the long day. 

I saw a blind man burdened with his poor 
music-box, patiently tapping with his cane, his 
only guide. Throughout the day, this man had 
stood in the shopping district, grinding away, and 
receiving small coins at the hands of those who 
were “moved with compassion.” Now, serene and 
tranquil, he was eagerly groping, through a black 
world, toward his home. 

I saw the tired laboring man with his empty 
dinner-pail and bearing little bundles, perhaps 
items for the evening meal, all suggestive of happy- 
faced children and a good wife awaiting him at the 
door of some little house. 

There was one man who had a rough, wooden 
peg for a leg, yet his face was merry and he was 
moving along in a right brave way. He carried 
a toy in his hand, and I knew that a pair of bright 
young eyes would be made brighter at his coming. 

Among the throng was an old woman who was 
smiling happily. She was carrying a little basket 

of fruit. Her lips were moving and I caught these 

116 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


words: “The precious little darlings.” It was not 
hard to imagine a group of children shouting a 
glad welcome and lips being raised to receive 
grandmother’s kiss. 

There was one little girl who ran eagerly ahead 
of her mother, the latter looking weary and worn. 
The little girl was wearing a pair of new shoes, 
and no queen ever moved with a prouder tread or 
happier dignity than did she. As the mother 
watched, the tired lines vanished somewhat from 
her face. 

They were going home! Some of these homes 
were, no doubt, wretched places from the stand¬ 
point of architecture and garnishment, yet each, 
alike, had been made gloriously beautiful by love! 
Here, weary bodies could gladly and hopefully 
come for rest and happy greeting, and thus be¬ 
come ready to face a new day with hope and cour¬ 
age. What a dreary, monotonous waste life would 
be, were it not for these humble habitations of 
love! 

What a blessed thought that at the close of 
life’s weary pilgrimage we can, also, go home in 
the evening, and, there, find glorious rest. Per¬ 
haps no sweeter words were ever spoken by the 
loving lips of Jesus than these: “I go to prepare 
a place , for you” The thought of this place gilds 
the pathway of life with an undying hope and 
transforms the dull sameness of the passing days 

into brightest anticipation. 

117 



SEEDS OF SERVICE 


And what is heaven but just a “home,” the 
abiding-place of love, multiplied by infinity? For 
whom are we to resemble in heaven? “We shall 
he like him.” And who is Jesus like? “He that 
hath seen me hath seen the Father.” And what 
is the character of God? “God is love.” The 
doomed life is the loveless life. And the test of 
love is obedient , cheerful service. 



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